


A Bird's Eye View

by C-chan (1001paperboxes)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Multi, References to Lord of the Rings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-02-13
Packaged: 2018-03-12 06:44:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3347429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1001paperboxes/pseuds/C-chan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Joly and Bossuet people-watch and are giant nerds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bird's Eye View

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zinzoline](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zinzoline/gifts).



> Happy Valentine's Day! Written for the prompt "I'd love to have an outsider POV fic about the relationship between [Enjolras/Combeferre/Grantaire] and their dynamics. Bonus if the POV is from an OC who doesn't know them at all." Didn't quite go for the OC angle, but not everyone is close yet, so we still get some of that dynamic. I hope you enjoy!

“What are you doing?”

“Oh, just watching.”

“Oh? Watching who?”

“Table 18.”

“Elf, hobbit, wizard?”

“I wasn’t thinking Lord of the Rings descriptors, but I think that’s it. Third one’s definitely a human, though; wizards are old men, remember?”

“Blue sweater and glasses though, yeah?”

“That’s right.”

“That’s Combeferre. He’s in Tuesday anatomy and Friday morning philosophy. Definitely a wizard.”

“Well then, I’ll tell you the hobbit is Grantaire. Probably the only person more often in here than I. Knows some epic drinking songs, and can talk for an hour straight if you let him. Don’t know how he breathes, really. And the elf —”

“Enjolras, right?”

“You know Enjolras?”

“Doesn’t everyone? And you?”

“Only by reputation.”

“Again, doesn’t everyone?”

“Fair enough.”

  


* * *

  


“Are they together?”

“Are who together?”

“Our friends from table 18."

“Elf, hobbit, wizard?”

“The very same, my wise old eagle.”

“Hey. Two years does not not an elderly man make. And although the baldness may age me, I’m told it’s very distinguished.”

“It is. And if you were to gain a bit of weight, I might rub your belly for luck.”

“I’m not sure what’s more wrong with that: the idea that you’d compare me to a statue, the fact that you practically called me fat if only a bit of weight would be needed to approximate a laughing buddha, the fact that neither of us are Buddhist in the least, or the fact that you’re trusting anything to do with me for luck.”

“My grandmother practices Buddhism, actually. But enough of that. Are they or aren’t they?”

“To be honest, I’ve never really asked. I don’t think so, though.”

“Why not?”

“Well, look at Grantaire’s face.”

“He looks sad.”

“Oh my poor friend, that’s not sadness. That’s pure, unadulterated longing. Actually looks a bit like you did, back when you first met Musichetta.”

“I was never that stricken, was I?”

“Moreso if anything. You pulled it off much better, though. On him it looks hopeless. On you, it was rather endearing.”

“You’re just saying that because you ended up with both of us.”

“Well, that look certainly helped, if you know what I mean.”

“Really.”

“Of course. Trust your elders.”

“What happened to two years?”

“Well, I can be older but not decrepit, can’t I?”

“Fine, I’ll let you pass this time. Just don’t go stealing my cane.”

“Deal.”

  


* * *

  


“So, elves or wizards?”

“Huh?”

“For our hobbit friend. Which do you think he’s going for?”

“Can’t it be both?”

“I’m not sure. I mean, he literally seems to have Samwise’s level of awe going on whenever he looks at Enjolras.”

“I know. It would be disgusting if it weren’t so entirely endearing.”

“You realize someone was probably saying that about you back when—”

“You were saying that about me back then. And to me at that!”

“Fair enough.”

“You left out the elf-wizard angle there, though.”

“Oooh. True. Those two do seem to be entirely too close sometimes.”

“Touchy, too. Have you noticed how often they stay in physical contact with one another?”

“How often?”

“If they’re next to each other, almost always. Entirely platonic touch, not even extended hand-holding. Lots of hugs and hand squeezes, though. Plus, I’m pretty sure Combeferre was wearing that belt last time we saw them.”

“You’re paying attention to belts?”

“It’s a nice belt, okay? I’m allowed to admire it.”

“Maybe they liked it enough that they both got one.”

“Also possible. But ooh, can you imagine them shopping together? Trying on outfits, modelling and letting the other give their opinions… spending far too much time in the book store and then getting a coffee before hitting the arcade.”

“You realize you just described last Saturday.”

“Ah. So I did.” 

“Fun day, though.”

“Fun day indeed. Oh… but if those two… where does that leave the hobbit?”

“Oh. Yeah, that won’t do. Poor R.”

“Was that a pun?”

“Yes, though I can’t take credit. He’s been calling himself that as long as I’ve known him.”

“He sounds like a good guy. If things don’t work out for him, you should introduce us.”

“And add a fourth to our mix? Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Ah, maybe not. Sharing is fine, but only so far. Friends though?”

“That, I think we can all go for.”

  


* * *

  


“Enjolras isn’t here today?”

“Not that I can see. I think something happened, actually… R looks pretty out of it.”

“I’d say he just looks drunk.”

“Well, that too. But he usually waits until a few hours later to get plastered, and then only when there’s someone to flirt with or talk at.”

“How long have you been watching him?”

“We were in the same drama department back in high school.”

“And you followed him here?”

“Well, not exactly, but there may have been girlish shrieks and shouts of ‘you again’ when we ended up in neighbouring rooms in our freshman year.”

“And you didn’t invite me?”

“Well, you weren’t here for two more years.”

“True, but you won’t leave alone the idea that I’m a time lord.”

“All I’m saying is that you’d look good in that scarf, you’ve got just the right balance of smarts, idiosyncrasies, and eccentricity, and you’re still not a ginger.”

“Point taken.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Uh-oh?”

“Wizard doesn’t look happy either.”

“Where?”

“By the door. Talking to the charming hobbit in the hat.”

“Well you’re right, he doesn’t look happy, but he looks more concerned than anything. And look, that’s about as much of a beeline as I think you can make to 18 on a crowded night.”

“Too bad we’re not close enough to listen in on the conversation, huh?”

“Eh, they deserve a it of privacy at least. Mind if I steal a chicken wing?”

“Take four. So you can—”

“Fly away into the sunset?”

“How’d you know?”

“Jehan told me about your name puns last week.”

“Scooped by my own poet laureate.”

“You have a poet laureate?”

“He has good rates. Free, in fact, if you can think of a good — OH! Oh! Did you see that?”

“See what?”

“Your wizard just kissed my hobbit!”

“That was a forehead kiss. Probably as much comfort and affection as anything.”

“…That wasn’t.”

“You’re right. I retract my previous statement.”

“So. Wizards, huh?”

“Apparently.”

“Think we can get a free poem out of that?”

“Only one way to find out.”

  


* * *

  


“I think we might have made a misjudgement.”

“What do you mean?”

“Elf and wizard seem to be much more affectionate today than usual.”

“You mean they’ve broken up already?”

“Maybe it was a goodbye kiss we saw. Combeferre’s the type to let people down gently… he could have wanted to make sure there wasn’t any hard feelings, but his heart really belonged with his, um… help me out here.”

“Blond beauty? Elven bundle of joy? Lufflebug? Not-so-platonic life partner?”

“Let’s go with the last one, yes. It seems appropriate, somehow.”

“Really does. Plus, it leaves lufflebug free for us.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“Even if it means affectionate buzzing?”

“I’d much rather the cooing.”

“Fair enough. Can’t blame me for trying, though.”

“I can’t and I don’t.”

  


* * *

  


“Oh no!”

“Please don’t tell me….”

“He’s coming!”

“The hobbit?”

“Uh-huh?”

“I told you not to tell me.”

“Well, you’re going to have to watch, because I can’t stand upsetting scenes. Work’s got me strung up enough.”

“Of course. You concentrate on the wood grain and your glass. But would you like a running commentary?”

“Yes please. Until it gets bad at least.”

“Heh. Probably wouldn’t need colour commentary then anyway. We’d probably be able to hear that just fine over here.”

“Exactly.”

“Okay. Grantaire, uh, hobbit is approaching. Wizard and elf break away, elf is blushing a bit… do you think he forgot they were out in public? Well. Anyway, he’s there now. Talking with the other two… huh. He’s sitting down.”

“I guess the no hard feelings thing worked.”

“Time heals all wounds. Or at least makes you able to cover them up better.”

“For everything else, there’s plastic surgery?”

“Pretty much. Though I thought you hated cosmetic procedures.”

“Over wounds, it’s technically reconstructive.”

“Still a thin line, but fair enough. Anyway, they’re talking now. Seems pleasant. They’re laughing. Well, hobbit is practically barking and wizard’s chuckling, elf’s rolling his eyes but still looks amused.”

“There’s tension then. It’s going to get more and more awkward and then—”

“Actually, I think anything is going to be just fine.”

“Huh?”

“Well, elf just reached for hobbit’s hand — hobbit’s about the colour of your spritzer by the way.”

“Sangria, actually.”

“Right. Didn’t see you order, sorry. Anyway, Wizard’s kissing his forehead again, and elf’s squeezing his hand, I think, and you really need to see this. It’s the most adorable thing to happen in this place since us.”

“You sure we’re still winning?”

“Of course. You’re here, aren’t you?”

“We might not be impartial enough to serve as judges, though.”

“Hush now. Look at them. Doesn’t it make you want to…”

“It really does.”

“So I guess you were right. Three all along.”

“Nah. Just made today, I think. Or else he wouldn’t be so red. So we both were.”

“Will you buy me a drink anyway?”

“Anything for you.”

“Good, ‘cause I think my wallet got left somewhere yesterday. It’s a funny story actually….”

  


* * *

  


“So what about table 32?”

“Isn’t that your poet laureate?”

“And his long-time eccentric drinking buddy, yes.”

“Elf and dwarf then?”

“Well, first of all, you can’t really compare him to Enjolras.”

“True, but that doesn’t mean he can’t be Sindar, or maybe even Noldor to Enjolras’ Vanyar.”

“I concede your point there, but obviously you haven’t seen drinking buddy there in action. He’s an Uruk-hai if anything.”

“Hey. Dwarves like nothing more than a good battle either, you know. Except perhaps tunnels, mines, and the things that come out of ‘em.”

“And he’s not hairy enough.”

“Details, details….”


End file.
